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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27587275">Stilts</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern'>CravenWyvern</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>DS Extras [94]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Don't Starve (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood and Injury, Gen, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Skin Hunger, Vent writing that got out of hand</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:00:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,480</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27587275</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It can be a lot, being alone for so long.</p><p>(Or, the aftermath of winning a fight with a tree.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>DS Extras [94]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/688443</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Stilts</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <i>Someone had loved you, once.</i>
</p><p>The fire spat up embers as Maxwell tossed in another log, green skinned birch with its engraved eyes wincing in silent screams as it burned alive, and the smog that rolled off the flames smelled like tar, thick spicy fuel bubbling like water to the surface of the bark as it cooked and charred. He watched the flames dance, for a moment, a slight sway in his balance as the chill early winter air cut through his worn through suit, but then the aching of his joints reared its head and the old former Nightmare King had to turn and slowly, shakily settle himself down upon the half hearted log bench beside the fire.</p><p>Mr. Skitts coiled atop itself opposite himself, empty bleach eyes squinting into a slow, narrow blink before pinholing into an unbreaking stare, little clawed wavering smoke hands rubbing together, as if to ward the cold air from itself. Behind the shadow were the remains of the tree guard, curled and dug in thick tendrils through the earth; lavender leaves still littered the ground, as well as the mutilated corpses of the birch nutters, dead wilted spike tentacles splayed across the dirt here and there.</p><p>Pain still radiated from where it had landed its hits upon him, but he had been lucky; his shadow clones had taken the brunt of the earthbound ents attacks. These trees were not usual once the first frost hit, but this one had noticed his doppelgangers culling nearby hibernating trees and it had not been very pleased. </p><p>Damn things could be easily taken down, if one knew the right way, and Maxwell knew he should consider this a win.</p><p>A shiver ran up his spine, and Mr. Skitts knotted itself into incomprehensible coils, working its jaws and whispering faint, unwanted words, and then Maxwell had to take a few slow blinks, drawing back into himself for a moment. His wrists stung.</p><p>Earlier the ents roots had lashed out, skewered and squeezed one of his shadows into leaking oily jelly, and it had been a harsh death to strike through his mentality and send his feet into an unsteady stumble. Then, he had been grabbed.</p><p>A slow glance to his sleeves still showed where his blood had soaked through the fabric, a macabre sight, but even as he clasped one hand over a sore wrist he could feel that the bandaging hadn't bled through just yet. The blood loss had made him weak, shaky and pale, but he had still won the fight in the end.</p><p>The birch tree guard had tried to pin him to itself, to its trunk, rolling fleshy organic eye and shaking leaf clutter as its bramble roots grabbed him, and it had tried to lash him to death. His remaining shadow clones had taken the hits for him, splattered their oils across his suit and face in doing so, but had given enough time and leftover resource to summon a last doppelganger, sharpened shadow axe in hand that just so easily dug into the hacked and torn trunk of the ent itself.</p><p>...It hadn't been able to lay a hand upon him, not even once.</p><p>His wrists had still bled, thorns and brambles he had to tear out of his skin as he stumbled back and out of the massive trunks hulking death throes. His back ached, from how hard he had been thrown against the trunk, and his knees still felt weak even now, hours after nightfall. </p><p>Everything hurt, a deep pain that pulsed in sore waves through each part of himself, and yet his wrists were as numb as they had been when he had finally pulled back the sodden blood soaked sleeves to see the gaping tear the thorns had left upon him.</p><p>His fingers had gotten feeling back, eventually. Still too stiff to move, to roll his hand in those simple, familiar gestures he had once done for days upon days, just to get a few more pennies, a dollar or two in his offered hat at the end of every street show. </p><p>But there was no pain.</p><p>
  <i>It was a wonderful feeling, wasn't it? To be loved.</i>
</p><p>Maxwell ignored the quiet faded ramblings that floated through the dark, that edged line of night and fires light, and, as he stared into the flames, the charred tearful dark pit eyes of the living logs as they burned alive, he found himself crossing his arms, hands clasped over his wrists as his shoulder fell forward in a subconscious curl. The fires inner colors, blues and greens and deep red oranges, kept his gaze steady, kept the slow rolling waves of thought inside his skull, dulled by shadow influence and strain, the physical stress of the entire day, kept it all quiet.</p><p>Calm.</p><p>
  <i>All gone now. Nothing like it around here, for you.</i>
</p><p>Even entranced by the flames, by the broiling alive living logs, Maxwell couldn't quite keep such images out of his head.</p><p>The thorns on those roots had dug so deep, torn clear through, and through the crimson foul blood and mutilated flesh of his wrists the wound had flashed those solid lines of bone, gore torn tendons. If the ent had been harsher in its grip, it might have been able to separate his very hands from his arms.</p><p>But, it hadn't. And with all the dark blood that came gushing out so too did the oily warm flow of fuel.</p><p>His hands had stayed numb, for a very long time after wrapping the wound up. His own blood stained his clawed fingers, in shiny blacks and thick clotted deep rotten reds. </p><p>...His back still hurt. Maxwell has never liked being manhandled, least of all by his more hostile creations.</p><p>
  <i>Best not to lie to oneself.</i>
</p><p>His fingers pressed to his wrists, to the torn injury underneath, and there was no pain.</p><p>Something in him, huddled under the thick fog of strain and stress and too much, just too much, curdled bitterly at that.</p><p>
  <i>Nothing like that anywhere at all, for you. No such thing, not anymore.</i>
</p><p>His blood sodden sleeves were still damp, stained his clothing ever more so wherever they smeared, but Maxwell only stared into the fire, curled up and ignoring the shadows nagging voice.</p><p>There was wetness, a faint give, and he was bleeding again as the foul oils leaked from his spotting bandages, dribbled in a lone stream down into the padded yellow dead grasses, bare of snow and only faintly laden with first frost. The fuel steamed where it hit, and crimson red spread like watercolor paints, but Maxwell did not dare to let himself look.</p><p>There was no pain.</p><p>
  <i>You'd rather not think about it, I know.</i>
</p><p>His back ached, burned in a way he couldn't quite catch, not in the state he was in, and yet still if he closed his eyes Maxwell knew he'd almost be able to <i>feel</i> the solid weight of the ents trunk against him.</p><p>Breathing, great sucking heaves as the wooden bark and it's dark ringed eyes all blinked and turned to look upon him, and there had been a heat, a living, deep heat behind him, pressed just so, so close against him.</p><p>There was no pain, in his wrist, yet the prickling sensation of blood flowing in riveted streams, soaking the bandages through, curling thin jutting bone and sagging wrinkled thin flesh, was almost reminiscent of the jagged brambles that had snagged him, forcefully pulled him back from trying to retreat.</p><p>His spine prickled, a nagging sensation that translated into horrid soreness, a <i>need</i> that made his next breath a bit stuttered and the fleeting urge to lean back against something once more.</p><p>The ent had breathed with him, bark rippling up in a swell that had pressed firm contact to his back, and it had torn through his wrists and held him tight, so tight as the rest of its coils had gathered together, around him in a thick bramble swathe. His suit was still littered with the nicks and holes and tears the tree had done, the faint scabbed over scratches, and the <i>burning</i> sensation that only eased as his blood doused the flames underneath his own skin.</p><p>The ent had <i>grabbed</i> him. It had held him, very, very close.</p><p>
  <i>But, something had loved you, once.</i>
</p><p>No pain, and Maxwell finally shut his eyes, drew his arms close as he pressed his palms to the torn bandages of his wrists, shuddered as a swell of nausea, inner sickness graced him by.</p><p>No pain, but the aching <i>need</i> to press up close to something that breathed, something that grabbed and tugged and wanted to hold close, so very close, close enough to even, perhaps, <i>kill</i>.</p><p>Or, perhaps...just close enough to <i>die</i> for.</p><p>
  <i>It felt a lot of like this, didn't it?</i>
</p>
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